More Than Enough
by Lopsided Whiskey Grin
Summary: Joe had already decided, and firmly, that as soon as his loop was closed, he'd be gone and the time he'd had with Sara would only be a distant memory. So why was he suddenly worried that whatever time he's had won't be enough? Expounds on the brief intimacy shared between Joe and Sara. Rated M for language and a physically intimate scene.


Looper is property of its respective owners

Joe narrowed his eyes as he looked out over Sara's dark, quiet cane field, bringing his blunderbuss up in his hands, alerted by the barest hint of movement to his left. He turned and began inching forward, his spiking adrenaline speeding his heart into jackrabbit mode as he came to the edge of the yard. He settled his finger over the trigger, silently hoping that it wasn't the mute vagrant that had frightened Sara that first night he had met her. He already had enough to worry about without having to add burying an innocent man who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong fucking time to that list.

He swallowed hard and tightened his grip on his gun, then using the blunt stock, slowly pushed a dry cane stalk to the side. The sudden, sharp feathering of a nightingale taking wing less than a foot in front of him startled him so violently he would have sworn his heart had literally stopped.

He stumbled back into the yard, panting harshly, one hand pressed firmly against his chest, the other wrapped tightly about the butt of his gun, his heart beating painfully wild and erratic.

Waiting for the inevitable moment his loop would show himself had left him feeling uncharacteristically high-strung and anxious- feelings he did not appreciate or welcome in any way. He should have been in France, making the most of the thirty years he had left, not prowling the yard of some goddamn farmhouse, waiting for his bastard of a loop to make an appearance.

Joe ran a hand roughly through his hair and drug in a deep, steadying breath, feeling his heart gradually returning to a normal rate. He stood in the quiet for a moment as his breathing evened out, listening intently for any other disturbances. He was still not quite able to admit to himself how much he preferred the easy silence of the rural countryside to the incessantly busy nature of the city. It had always seemed like a world trapped in the past; a place he was always eager to leave after his hits. But he had never bothered to stay after nightfall, when the stars came out in full force- a million pinpricks of dazzling light shining from horizon to horizon, had never heard the sweetly despondent call of a solitary whippoorwill, had never felt the cool kiss of a dew-dampened twilight breeze on his face.

Never until now.

He caught himself smiling warmly at his own sentimental musings and frowned, quickly shaking the thoughts away resolutely. He had saved too long, had fought too fucking hard to just give up his plans and settle here. As soon as his loop was closed, he'd be gone and the time he'd had with Sara and Cid would only be a distant memory. Regret flared unexpectedly in his chest for a moment and he worked hard to push it away. There was absolutely no fucking way he could stay, was there?

The light in Sara's bedroom suddenly flicked on, drawing his attention to the farmhouse's second floor. His eyes were riveted to the window and he watched unmoving as she crossed before the gauzy drape-covered pane, her hands up in her hair, combing through the strands. She moved from view for a moment before coming back to the window, dressed in a nightgown. She paused in her walk across the room and pulled the lucent drapes back slightly, peering down into the yard, catching him staring up at her.

A warm blush flushed his cheeks and he quickly turned back to the cane fields, nervously rubbing at the back of his neck.

He walked to the edge of the yard, holding his gun loosely in both hands, and forced himself to focus on the perimeter, the moon, the grass at his feet, fuck, _anything_ to take his mind off of the way Sara's nightgown had clung softly to the curve of her breasts, the way her lips had parted as she ran her hands through her hair.

He suddenly felt his cock tightening against his jeans and released an exasperated groan, rubbing a hand roughly down his cheek. _Just focus damnit,_ he chided himself, _close the loop, get the fuck out._

His thoughts were suddenly cut off by a mechanical croak chirping up from his jeans pocket. His heart promptly jumped up into his throat. _Sara._ He'd never be able to forgive himself if something happened to her or Cid. He was the one that had put her in this situation in the first place, for fuck's sake.

He tore across the darkened yard, deftly leaping over one of Cid's trikes lying sideways in the grass, vaulting himself up the porch steps, his gun grasped tightly in his trembling hands.

He plowed through the front door and took the stairs to the second floor two at a time, his heart thudding heavily against his ribcage as he opened the door to Sara's bedroom. His eyes darted around the room, searching for whatever threat had caused her to raise the alarm.

"What is it? What's wrong?" The words left his mouth in a breathless rush.

Sara stepped up beside him, closing the door quietly, then moved to stand in front of him. There was no fear in her eyes, no evidence that she was in danger, only the barest hint of uncertainty, which was quickly replaced by an undeniable hunger.

She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear then pushed forward, hesitating only once before bringing her lips up to his.

His brain shorted out at the sudden, unexpected contact and he stumbled back against her dresser, having at least enough presence of mind to fumble his blunderbuss on top of it, if only so his hands would be free to touch.

Sluicing desire coursed straight to his cock at her brazenness. A growl rumbled deep in his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, held her close against his body, his quickly stiffening erection pressing insistently against her belly. And it wasn't enough, not fucking _near_ enough.

He began walking them toward the bed, his hands running over her back, her hips, her ass, in a frenzied effort to memorize every curve.

She moaned against his mouth, her hands working at yanking his jacket from his shoulders. He helpfully shrugged it to the floor. Less clothes was good. Definitely very fucking good.

They were suddenly at the bed. Sara fell back onto the mattress with a soft grunt, Joe quickly following on top of her. Their lips broke contact for a fraction of a second and he took the opportunity to drag oxygen into his lungs, before she grabbed at his shirtfront and pulled him back to her, her lips crushing desperately against his. He swore he could taste the need and urgency there, was almost overcome with the strength of it.

He supported himself with one hand on the bed and brought the other to the hem of her nightgown, pulling the soft fabric high up on her thighs, brushing his fingers against the soft skin there, parting her legs with a gentle insistence.

Sara moaned and shuddered at the touch. He released a groan of pure male satisfaction against her mouth, and feathered his fingers higher.

She grunted softly in frustration, bringing her hand down from where it was tangled in his hair, grasping his wrist and pressing his hand firmly against her pussy.

No panties. Oh sweet fucking Christ.

Sara knew what she wanted and he was more than fucking happy to give it to her. His cock swelled so tightly against his jeans in anticipation it was actually painful.

He sat back on his heels for a moment to yank his shirt up over his head, then tried to still his trembling fingers long enough to undo his pants. Sara smiled at his fumblings and brushed his hands aside, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling the zipper down with sure fingers. They worked together to finally pull the damn things off and toss them to the floor.

Joe moved back to Sara, his mouth finding hers once more, urgent and insistent. His hand traced a light trail down one breast, over her stomach, across a hipbone, then found its way back to her pussy. He dipped one finger inside, then two, testing the wet heat there. He very nearly came right then at how ready she was for him. She bucked her hips up, trying to draw his fingers in deeper when he brought his thumb up to firmly press against the hard nub of her clit.

She pulled her mouth from his, her head falling back on a pillow, her eyes closed tightly, "Oh, God, Joe, I need this, I need you."

He worked his thumb faster until her hands flew up to grip tightly at his shoulders, until he felt her muscles begin to spasm around his fingers.

And it wasn't enough.

He pulled his hand free and quickly moved between her legs, grasping her hips, pushing his cock into her with one deep thrust.

He sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation of her slick heat wrapped around him just as she fisted her hand at her mouth to muffle a pleasured cry. He jerked his hips forward, moving over her body and bracing himself on his elbows up by her head.

She looped her arms around his back, her nails scratching at his skin as they fell into a matching rhythm. He looked down to her face, so honest and accepting, as his cock pounded into her, his mind hardly able to form any sort of coherent thought beyond, _It's not enough_.

He brought a shaky hand up to brush a lock of hair from her eyes and pressed a deep, open-mouthed kiss to her lips, feeling an achingly sweet tension tighten in his chest before slipping down hotly to coil low in his belly.

Sara wrapped her legs around his lower back, tilting her hips up to just the right fucking angle, panting his name through parted lips, and he was done for. Absolutely fucking done for.

He buried his face against her neck and groaned hoarsly, slamming his cock into her one last time as his orgasm was ripped from him with more force than he'd ever experienced.

His body tensed as he spilled into her warmly, and he was suddenly struck with an undeniable realization, near fucking heartbreaking in its clarity: Sara would _always_ be enough. Fuck, she was _more _than enough – the answer to every question he'd ever asked.

And he knew then, without a fucking doubt, that he'd do anything for her, would give his life for her if she asked. He just hoped that if it came down to keeping her safe, to keeping her and Cid out of danger, that sacrificing himself would be enough.

It was not something he would have to wonder about for long.


End file.
